


How To Find Yourself And End Up Okay In Ten 'Easy' Steps

by orphan_account



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Identity Issues, M/M, Past Abuse, Self-Denial, i think those sum this up best lmao, kinda abstract work i guess, think shitty tumblr poetry in a blender with glitter and an overuse of the word 'fuck'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-11 12:06:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7050211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Violet Chachki is a lot of things, but mostly she's pretending that she has her shit together.</p><p>Pearl Liaison is a lot of other things, and it just so happens that she's pretending to have her shit together, too, but for entirely different reasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Find Yourself And End Up Okay In Ten 'Easy' Steps

**Author's Note:**

> y'know when artists like...gather some rocks and put them in a display cabinet in gallery and call it art whilst making up some deep and meaningful bullshit about what it represents?
> 
> that's what this is, except with less rocks and more ~~implied fucking~~ bullshit

 

 

 

i. Violet Chachki is a mess.

She's known this for a while, but every time she sits and contemplates her own identity for longer than twelve seconds it all starts to become a little hazy. Maybe she's unaware of who she is. Who he is. Who they are.

**[?: genderqueer??? Not a real thing what are these young people doing]**

**[??: Another fucking young bitch queen winning. Annoying and fake. Didn't like her]**

**[???: Bitch needs to work out who she/he/it is before she tries runnin with the big dogs fr a national title lmaooo]**

She's always tried to ignore comments, simply because she stopped giving a fuck at some point. She can't even pinpoint when, she just knows she stopped giving a fuck. All those people, thinking they know her better than she does just because she's showing one side on manipulated, cleverly-edited international television.

They probably do.

Eventually, she'll figure it out.

 

\---

 

Pearl Liaison is lazy.

It sort of goes with her name, she thinks. 'Lias-', 'laze', etcetera. But it doesn't do anything for her growing annoyance of how she keeps getting told off for 'sleepwalking' or 'drifting through the conversation'. Her patience is wearing thin and she feels like it'll just snap at one little comment. The straw that broke the camel's back.

She's always been a little lax about things. About everything. About life. That's just always how she's approached obstacles or events or anything in her way, and it's done her well so far.

But she still feels like she wants to fucking punch someone for insulting the only tactic that's ever got her through life: not caring. RuPaul is the most likely target.

 

\---

 

ii. Violet Chachki is a pill-popper.

Well, not really. Pearl likes to joke that she is, but Violet swears that she’s never done any harder drugs than weed. (Violet has sworn on a _lot_ of things that weren’t necessarily true, though, so Pearl takes it with a pinch of salt.)

She takes pills every morning, but she never remembers what for.

She doesn't remember if they help.

_He_ doesn't remember if they help. He doesn't remember much about those pills, actually - some old medical condition that he's had since he was a kid. Little boy Jason, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, learned to swallow pills properly from his mother, and then slightly taller, person Jason, kept up the technique until he only remembers that he needs to swallow them, and not what they're for.

At this point, it’s too late to remember. Maybe he’ll remember in the actual mornings and not at 4AM after a round of drinks.

Two rounds of drinks. Three rounds of drinks.

A few rounds of drinks.

 

\---

 

Pearl Liaison is a smoker.

She doesn't remember when she picked up the habit.

_He_ doesn't remember when he picked up the habit. Probably at some point during college (the lack of public school education meant he didn't have an excuse for it before then), when all of the popular kids were doing it and he felt he needed to fit in. It's just a normal thing for him now, and he even stepped outside the workroom for a quick smoke every so often, in between all of the crafting and makeup and commotion when they were still filming.

Now filming is over, he still has regular cigarette breaks. Like during long meals, and shifts at work, and halfway through boring movies. And when his best friend is drunk in the bar, too, and during the aftermath.

He'll go back in in a minute, but all he signed up for was dropping Jason in his hotel bathroom and saying 'medicate yourself' and then leaving. He doesn't want to feel like he's invading his privacy by standing around waiting for him to down whatever pills he needs to.

Just another minute. Another puff. Maybe another cigarette once this one dampens and fizzles out.

 

\---

 

iii. Violet Chachki is a porn star.

It starts with Violet saying “I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve done in my past” and ends with Violet saying “we're not friends anymore”.

Somewhere in the middle, Pearl sends her the video. That video. Starring her, all-natural Violet. Boy Violet. Person Violet. Jason.

**[Pearl: nice angles]**

**[Violet: Shut the fuck up.]**

**[Pearl: i can rly appreciate the artistry that went into this]**

**[Pearl: so elegant, chic, refined yet so innocent and reserved all at once. beautiful]**

**[Violet: We're not friends any more.]**

She doesn't mean it, of course. They both know that. They both know that something so trivial won't be challenged to that extent.

Pearl will still take every opportunity to jab at her for it, though, and she almost wishes she had that sense of self back that past Violet did. It must be nice to have some idea of who you are, even if that _is_ a porn star.

 

\---

 

Pearl Liaison is losing friends.

Not really. She knows Violet isn't serious, but it doesn't make her bitter texts any less funny. Entertainment is scarce in shitty hotel rooms at 2AM with just pay-per-view porn to watch, so she'd take what she can get.

**[Violet: We’re not friends any more.]**

**[Pearl: shut up you know you love me]**

**[Violet: Nope.]**

**[Pearl: yep]**

It’s not like Violet’s never threatened to break their friendship before. That’s how Pearl knows she’s just joking.

That, or the fact that there’s a 98% chance that the next time Violet is drunk one of them will end up receiving a blowjob. That’s how they keep their friendship afloat, usually.

 

\---

 

iv. Violet Chachki is America's Next Drag Superstar.

There's a pause, and then lights, applause, cheering, yelling, confetti, lights, cheering, clapping, lights, Pearl, Ginger, RuPaul, lights, lights, lights-

And then she's being crowned and it's a rush, and she only barely processes what's happening through the noise that surrounds her.

Of course, it's not live. It's not the actual crowning, and it's all scripted, and soon after they're going to re-record it twice more, those next times crowning Ginger and then Pearl as the winner. But she can hope and pray that this is the footage that they'll eventually air to the masses, that she'll have to watch this again in a few month's time when the three of them are sitting on a sofa. Holding hands. Preparing each other for the results.

For now, though, she revels in the attention, even if it's a little disorientating having to fake a reaction for the cameras. She still manages to give face and cry out her signature catchphrase before walking the runway: _"come throughhhhh!"_

Violet Chachki, America's Next Drag Superstar.

Jason thinks it fits her quite well.

 

\---

 

Pearl Liaison is not America's Next Drag Superstar.

There's a pause, and then lights, applause, cheering, yelling, confetti, lights, cheering, clapping, lights, Violet, Ginger, RuPaul, lights, lights, lights-

But she _hasn't won._ She's a runner-up, alongside Ginger, joint second to her best friend. Violet Chachki.

Speaking of, _she_ hasn't spoken. At all. Violet sits in shocked silence, mouth in a perfect 'o' shape as she tries to take in the news blaring from the TV screen in front of them. Pearl covers her own mouth with her hand, also unable to process the winner. Not that she was bitter; the crown couldn't have gone to a more deserving winner, in her eyes.

At least it shut Violet the _fuck_ up for longer than three seconds. Their winner's lounge reunion had been friendly but tense up until this point, and the cheering on screen would've drowned out any comments Violet had to make, anyway.

Ginger shakes Violet's right hand to try and get her to move. Pearl feels her own clench tighter onto hers, and gives it a little squeeze, and then she moves her free hand to Violet's arm.

Shake, shake. Nothing.

"Yes!" Ginger encourages. All that leaves Violet's mouth is short, quick 'oh my god's. Then more silence.

"...This is the weirdest thing I've done in my entire fucking life," Violet manages, breathlessly and eventually. She sounds as if she's struggling, so Pearl sneaks her hand to her knee in support. It's one thing to lose to her, but being bitter about it would just be plain rude. Pearl has no intentions of acting that way towards her.

None of them are even paying attention to the show at this point. Violet is hunched over and trying to catch her breath, and Pearl gives her knee a gentle squeeze of reassurance. Her arm is latched around her shoulder, tracing her nails across her bodysuit, and to anyone on the outside it might look like they're all consoling her. If they weren't wearing colourful latex suits, of course.

In a traditional Pearl-esque fashion, she tries to bring some humour into the situation. "Must feel really nice," she comments passively, with a little wiggle.

She's thankful that Violet took it as the joke that it was intended to be.

And then they're hugging, except it's a half-assed kind of hug in which Pearl doesn't expect it and Violet just latches onto her and laughs. Everything is _fine_.

"I'll just be over here doing Pearlface," Ginger says, making the same kind of expression that turned Pearl into an internet joke, and that elicits laughs from all of them. And then, just as quickly as the whole thing happened, escorts are coming in after the trio, obviously taking Violet first.

"I don't wanna leave you guys," Violet says, very clearly wanting to leave and get on stage. Pearl can't blame her.

The guys in the black shirts take their winner, and Violet's arm stays around Pearl's waist for as long as it can before the distance between them grows too wide. She watches as she leaves, and security tell her and Ginger to wait for a minute while Violet takes the lead.

Pearl Liaison is _not_ America's Next Drag Superstar, but her best friend is. Matt Lent is _not_ the person behind America's Next Drag Superstar, but his best friend Jason Dardo is.

And that's completely fine with him.

 

\---

 

v. Violet Chachki is late.

She's speed-walking through the streets, adapting a light jog, because fuck being late for a date with someone you've wanted to go out with since filming began. There are lights surrounding her, taxis roaring past, horns blaring, rain pouring, and she's shuffling through the crowds like nobody's business, hoping to everything that she's still there.

She is. The warmth of the diner, neon flashing from the signs above the entrance, and the little smile she gives Violet as she notices her coming through the doorway from her booth.

Only, it's not her. It's not Pearl. It's Matt.

And this shouldn't be Violet. It should be Jason.

"Hey," Matt says, gesturing with an open palm to the seat opposite him. There's already two Cokes on the table, one half-emptied at this point.

The familiar figure slides into the empty booth space, and said figure remembers to greet Matt back.

"Hi," she says. But it's not Jason; it's still Violet.

 

\---

 

Pearl Liaison is on time.

This is the _one fucking time_ she’s ever been punctual, and the person she’s waiting for isn’t showing up? Fuck that noise. She looks dejectedly down at her half-emptied glass of Coke, occasionally swirling it around with the straw and listening to the ice clink against the side of the glass amidst the chatter of the diner and the rain against the open windows.

The diner is pretty nice, actually. Stylish, retro red and white and neon, leather booth seats, bar stools, even a jukebox. It’s completely surrounded by glass, so the whole restaurant is open for passer-bys to see, aside from the frosted glass and translucent stickers covering up the glass below table height. A good choice by her. Pearl.

A good choice by him. Matt.

Who is waiting for Violet. Jason.

Sometimes he calls Jason ‘Violet’ even when they’re not doing drag. It’s just something they’re all used to doing at this point.

Matt won’t be fucking calling Jason at all, _ever_ , unless he hauls ass and gets here soon. To everyone else, Matt probably looks like a typical late-night stoner guy, pierced septum and shaved blonde hair, coming in after the munchies kick in and occupying spaces of his own accord. Any other night, that would be true. Just not tonight.

He hears the little bell chime when the door opens and snaps his head upwards to see if it’s who he wants it to be. It is. He recognises the dark hair, the height, the figure, the ridiculously attractive face, even the very lost and worried look on his face. His own breaks into a smile as soon as Jason catches his eye, and then he makes a sweeping motion at the seat opposite.

“Hey,” Matt says, codeword for ‘you’ve kept me waiting long enough’.

Sliding into the seat, Jason replies with “hi”, codeword for ‘I’m sorry’. Probably.

Something seems a little off, though, but Matt elects to ignore it. “Bad traffic?” he asks as Jason lunges for the full glass of Coke that Matt had oh-so-kindly bought for him.

“It’s New York, what did you expect?” A sip from the Coke. Then a longer gulp. The thunk of the glass against the table. A sigh of parched relief from Jason. Then just silence, aside from the hum of the diner. "That doesn't excuse it. Sorry."

"Oh, God, no, it's fine," Matt says dismissively. "I had time to contemplate and regret this whole thing, so all's good by me."

Jason just gives him a sardonic smile. "Pay-fucking-back for constantly reminding me of things I don't care to be reminded of."

"Sorry, who said they weren't ashamed of it?"

"Me," Jason shrugs. "I'm not. I just don't want every single- I don't want every text that I wake up to being _that_."

Matt smiles wider. Jason watches him.

"...You know what, I gotta send it every morning now."

"Don't. Or I'll leave this date right now. Right fucking now."

"Are we officially making it a date now?"

"It was a date from the start, bitch."

Matt isn't sure if it was, but Jason seems adamant that it was always a date. If anything, it just reassures the former - not that he never wanted it to be a date, but he was the least likely of the two to affirm that it was.

So now that's that. Pearl Liaison is on a date with Violet Chachki; alert the presses, tell the fans.

Unfortunately, it seems like Matt Lent is also on a date with Violet Chachki, rather than the Jason he thought he'd arranged to see.

 

\---

 

vi. Violet Chachki is in love.

She's in love with the way Pearl expresses herself, gestures, walks, talks, fucks. She's in love with Pearl Liaison, and Jason is in love with Matt and everything is going to be fine.

\---

Pearl Liaison is in lust.

She's in lust with the way Violet fucks. Technically, she could say she's in love with it, but she's finding it difficult to form relationships with anyone or anything due to her abundance of trust issues. It doesn't matter that the sex isn't a person that she's falling in love with, it's just an activity, but Pearl doesn't want to open up to loving anything. She doesn't know how to break this to Violet, but she doesn't think everything is going to be fine.

 

\---

 

vii. Violet Chachki is drunk.

Not the kind of happy, jolly, lively drunk either. If she was in a better mood she'd be that, but not today. Not tonight.

"I don't know who the fuck you are any more," Matt says with an air of finality.

And it hurts, because the recipient of the comment doesn’t know either.

“One minute you’re this, another you’re that, and I don’t know who I’m talking to. You’re drifting, Jase, and it’s fucking difficult. Y’know how they always used to say I was sleepwalking? Yeah. You’re that,” Matt continues, and every ending point of a sentence cuts a little deeper, stabs a little more.

Violet wants to reply with, “I’m sorry. I’m trying”.

Instead, Jason simply slurs out a “fuck you. You don’t have to stick around”, and it’s not at all what he wants to say – what _she_ wants to say – but it’s all that leaves his mouth. Matt’s face doesn’t change to Jason. It does, but he’s too drunk to notice the softening of Matt’s eyes, and the stutter before he speaks next.

“I-...” Matt starts, and then stops, and throws his hands up. “Yeah, alright. Okay."

Jason doesn't move, and stays standing in one position, watching Matt for any traces of emotion that were obvious enough for him to notice even while drunk. There are none that he can decipher.

 

\---

 

Pearl Liaison is also drunk.

It just reminds her- reminds _him_ , of a time now passed, abuse of alcohol, fists flying, so many pictures burned into his mind that he can't ever scratch away. He's a controlled drunk, however, not to the point of slurring his words or staggering like Violet. Like Jason.

"I-..." he begins, wanting to say an array of things that never find their way into the air around them.

'I'm sorry'. 'I love you'. 'I hate you'. Any of the above would work, but all that he ends up saying is 'yeah, alright. Okay'.

And then Jason is staring at him. Just...staring. Nothing else. Examining every corner of his face, carving the cheekbones he'd caressed before, the lips he'd kissed before. All it does is reminds Matt of those times, the glares across the room, the awkward looks at the things that caught their eyes and the same things that they'd never ask about. The things he never cared to share on the show regardless of how much he was pressed, or how much better it would make his chances of winning with this 'sob story'.

After a minute of nobody talking, and both just exchanging the same look, Matt weakens. He doesn't want a fight. He doesn't want another fight.

"...Something on my face?"

He's told Jason about this. About never understanding as a kid why people stared at him from across the room. About the little scars left of his face, the bigger scars left on his heart, and the biggest scars left in his mind. In his memory. The ones he can't get rid of. This is Matt's code phrase for 'we're not going to fight. For 'let's drop this'.

For 'I'm okay with you'. And Matt will take any opportunity of being okay that he can get.

Jason collapses back, raggedly falling into a crouch on the hotel bed. The neighbours will be putting in noise complaints. Two loud drunk guys arguing is never something a hotel deals with kindly.

And in this bit of afterthought, Jason starts to cry. Sob. His eyes well up but just one choked sob comes out. Matt sits down next to him and puts his arms around him, trying not to cry himself.

"I'm sorry," Matt says, humming it into Jason's untamed hair. And he repeats it, and he keeps repeating it until it gets through to Jason and they end up laying back in a tangle of limbs, bed sheets, and clothes.

 

\---

 

viii. Violet Chachki is passing on the crown.

"Bow to me," she said with her head held high, in a video that would inevitably end up doing the rounds on social media after Courtney posted it to her Instagram. It felt good, but knowing that she only has those twenty-four hours left didn't. She'll ham it up for as long as possible.

Alaska and Courtney mock-bowed at her feet. "Current reigning!" she yelled, and again, and again, until it only just wired into her head that she won in the first place.

She steps out on stage in her ensemble, this glorious loud, bug-infested, alien-looking creature, complete with a dress to go down in Drag Race history and prosthetic skin crown. This way, even after she passes it on, the crown is hers. They'll always know that she's a queen. It's a massive 'fuck you' to everyone who thought she never would have the chance of winning.

She _has_ to cling onto this little part of herself, to her title. It's the only part of her identity that she's even been sure that she had.

 

\---

 

Pearl Liaison is in the audience.

She's watching her best friend, Violet Chachki, pass the crown down to-...all three of the potential season eight winners, actually, since it was all just going to be edited together at the very end anyway. She looks fucking flawless and Pearl is so, so proud of her.

After months of not falling into the producers' traps, not opening up to Ru or any of the sob story opportunities, and after a year of keeping all of that reserved for Violet's ears only, she's okay. She's okay with not winning. She's okay with being a runner-up.

Finally, she's okay with something. Even if it's her best friend winning something that she also participated in, it's a start. A pretty big start, compared to most people's starting points of acceptance, and for that, she's grateful.

It's the first time Pearl has ever been more than just 'okay'. It's the first time Pearl has ever opened up, and she's so, so glad she did.

 

\---

 

ix. Violet Chachki is a winner.

And she's never felt more in control of herself.

 

\---

 

Pearl Liaison isn't quite a winner.

But she's never felt more okay with herself.

 

\--

 

x. Violet Chachki is Jason Dardo.

And soon, he can realise that.

 

\---

 

Pearl Liaison is Matthew James Lent.

And soon, he can make peace with that.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i considered making this two separate fics but i'm disgustingly lazy
> 
> tumblr:
> 
> please come and yell into ~~the void that is~~ my ask box about drag queens because i'll give an enthusiastic reply faster than you can say 'justice for trixie mattel'


End file.
